


Possession

by seamusdeanforever_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 20:11:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5062414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seamusdeanforever_archivist/pseuds/seamusdeanforever_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By Manda</p><p>He'd give him possessive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possession

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Cora: this story was originally archived at [Seamus/Dean Forever](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Seamus/Dean_Forever), which I opened in 2002, and which was closed in 2005 when the server that hosted it was closed. To re-open the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2015. An announcement was posted to OTW media channels, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Seamus/Dean Forever archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/seamusdeanforever/profile).
> 
> ***
> 
> DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
> 
> A/N: Written as a Christmas present for everybodysweird. She typed it up for me, so any mistakes are hers. Unbeta'd.

"I need you to paint my whole body red and gold."

Seamus is copying Dean's Transfiguration homework and warming up his hand under Dean's shirt. He tactfully ignores the wary look he knows Dean is giving him and continues, "It's all a matter of house pride," assuring, in a not very assuring way. They're in the common room, it's almost midnight, and Seamus is giving up Dean's warmth momentarily to pick up his dropped quill.

"What does this word say, Dean?" Seamus digresses for a moment as he struggles to make out Dean's cursive handwriting and simultaneously slip his hand back up the dark boy's shirt.

"It looks like constipate but it could be constitute..." He trails off with a shiver as Dean's (freezing!) hand creeps under his own, untidy looking shirt. There's a pregnant pause.

"What?" Seamus asks, quietly, curiously.

Dean raises an eyebrow.

"Paint you?"

Seamus fails to see what's so difficult to understand. "Yes."

Dean is now holding his head up with his hand because it suddenly feels terribly heavy. "Me?"

Seamus sighs, ever patient and such. "Yes."

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose and reflects quietly that if he wore glasses this would be the opportune moment to take them off and clean them in quiet contemplation, but because his eyesight is pretty much perfect, he settles for giving Seamus a small peck on the mouth (that stretches a little longer than the two seconds he bargained for) to stall for time.

"Of course," adds Seamus, after a minute or so, and a little breathless, "I'll have to be starkers so you can reach everything easily." He winks and opens the chocolate frog that is lying on the table in front of them.

"You know what I mean, right?" he asks, feeding Dean a chocolate frog head, effectively preventing his answer.

Dean chuckles and shares the chocolate with Seamus. Well, the chocolate already in his mouth.

"Alright," he finally relents, his face buried in Seamus' neck. "The Quidditch pitch won't know what hit it," he sighs, and it's set for the next Saturday, early morning. "So nobody sees us," Seamus pleads, and Dean nods silently because he doesn't see what would be so wrong about it if people did see but the last time he brought that up... well.

An the thought of it makes him feel fiercely...something, so he takes it out on Seamus' lips and lets go of all thoughts of reservation when Seamus lets out that lovely little sound...

The week passes in an echoing smudge, a little like charcoal, Dean thinks, only a little brighter and he blinks away the anger and jealousy of all the girls that get Seamus' blinding smiles and heart stopping attention. On Friday night, he snaps, Seamus, looking back on it, is glad.

"Why do you insist on tormenting me by flirting with all these other girls?"

The third floor is quiet and echo-y and Dean lets lose.

"I thought I was yours just like you were mine," he finishes, tired. "Even if we aren't letting anyone know, I thought you'd at least stop flirting with every pretty girl."

Seamus stands here and takes it all, feeling terrible, and agrees to leave the female population alone for a bit, and later, as Dean's fingers work their magic, Seamus manages to choke out, "I love it when you get possessive. It turns me on like nothing before," and his eyes are dark and sharp and then he's coming, wave after wave and crying out, and Dean smiles.

He'd give him possessive.

*~*~*

Saturday morning dawns bright and warm and saturated with morning sounds like snoring and creaking mattresses and birds chipping. Dean has to stop every so often to pick up the bottles of red and gold acrylic paint that he drops in his haste and sleepy haze as Seamus drags him down ninety-seven stairs, multitudes of turns, miles worth of halls and acres of grounds by the wrist.

"So my possessiveness turns you on, does it?" asks Dean, when he's finished everything else and leaves that one bit of his body and Seamus groans at Dean's strong grip; and Dean takes that as a yes.

"Alright, turn around," he orders, afterwards; and Seamus does, and squirms as Deans uses a fine brush and ignores Seamus' inquiries.

*~*~*

The game proves scandalous, and Seamus loves every gasp, wolf whistle but doesn't touch another girl.

Dean sits in the stands, watching with a small smile and a predatory smirk as people ask about what's written on Seamus' back.

TAKEN.

And Dean is satisfied.


End file.
